


Family

by starsoverhead



Category: Knight Rider (1982), Knight Rider 2000
Genre: Angst, Gen, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsoverhead/pseuds/starsoverhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of one of their own, the survivors try to pick up the pieces and find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Funeral

She didn't look at Michael.

How many years had gone by since she'd seen him? Since she'd even thought about him? When Knight Industries had gone north, when he'd retired, she'd gone east. Back home, back to Boston, and she'd taken up the post that they'd asked of her at MIT. Eventually, she'd gone to CalTech, but she'd never seen him.

She'd built a life. She'd married, divorced, lived happily single afterward - but she couldn't be happy because she knew. Something was missing. She was never told. Devon's letters had never told her a damned thing, but when she found out Kitt had been deactivated and dismantled, she simply couldn't forgive the man who'd walked away and let it happen, even if he was now standing there, mourning like the rest of them.

She didn't look at him, but she knew he was there.

\---

She didn't look at Michael.

She hadn't looked at him for a long time. She'd taken her previous posting back without any problems, way back when, but it hadn't been Michael who'd kept coming to see her. It'd been the man who was now being buried. An honourable, respectable man, whom she'd come to love like no-one else in her life. As the changes had come, she'd stood alongside him, helped him, talked with him.

They'd never married, but that was fine. He wasn't one to marry, and neither was she. They didn't need marriage, really. But now, watching as the first shovels of dirt were dropped onto the casket, she wished they had. Even if it was just to have his name to remember him by.

He was the only man on her mind now, and she was sure he was the only man that would be on her mind for a good, long time. Devon Miles was one of a kind.

\---

She didn't look at Michael.

Her gaze was torn between the grave of the man who had been like a grandfather or beloved uncle to her when she was so young and the red car that wasn't so very far away. She'd known them both so well, and she'd missed them, and now...

Now she was so confused. She'd loved Devon dearly, and she'd loved Kitt to the same depth. It was hard for her to think that Michael had walked away and let Kitt be... practically killed like that, but he'd come back and put Kitt back together.

But so many years left a rift too deep to be easily excused. She'd both lost and gained close friends today, and it left her with such a jumble of emotion that she could barely look outside herself.

\---

They weren't the only three women to leave the funeral of Devon Miles, but they were the three who shared a glance and weak smile before going to their cars.

And they didn't look at anyone as they left.


	2. Patience

The scene was familiar. The setting. It brought memories of Devon, for all Michael knew he was gone. He'd repaid the debt he'd owed. But there was someone sitting at his picnic table, and when he'd pulled in, there'd been a strange car in his drive. Truth of it was it'd hit him pretty hard to see the old Firebird, even if it was gold instead of black. He'd looked it over - and the windows had stayed clear, the dash looked stock, and there wasn't a scanner mounted in the nose. It was just an old Pontiac. And the person sitting at his picnic table was just a pretty woman he'd not seen before.

Well, no, he told himself. He'd seen her. Where, though...

Devon's funeral, he thought. But there was something else. He frowned. He should know her, he was sure, but it just couldn't come through.

So he pushed his hands into his pocket and felt like a stranger walking into his own yard. Why did she have to look so self-posessed? "Can I help you?" he asked. If someone had come all the way out here, they had to know just who he was.

She stood up, and he saw she really was pretty. Reminded him a little of Bonnie, way back when. Redder hair. Somewhere between April and Bonnie. April's curly hair, Bonnie's self-confidence.

"I think you can," she said, and the voice prickled at his memory as well. Who was she?

"I came to talk to you. I've thought of a lot of questions lately. And I think you can answer them." And then she gave a smile. An almost-friendly smile, he thought. Like she was still making up her mind about him. Like she'd known him once and saw him changed.

Only fair. He had changed.

"As long as Maddock didn't send you."

"No, not Maddock. RC."

"RC?"

She nodded. "He's been in town for a while. I went to talk to him yesterday."

This woman was becoming more confusing by the moment. "What about?" he asked, now skeptical. Someone who not only knew him, but RC. That meant she knew FLAG, even though FLAG didn't exist anymore.

"About you. About why you left." And then, she offered that weak smile again. "You don't recognize me." He shook his head, she nodded. "I'm Becky. Becky Phillips."

The name took him a few minutes. But then he remembered. The little girl with the bright smile. The little girl he'd looked at and felt pangs that she wasn't his, for all her sweetness and warm nature, her helplessness and bravery and here she was, grown up and healthy and beautiful and standing in front of him wanting to know why...

Why he'd let her down. Why he'd let her Black Beauty down.

"You've grown up," he said after a few moments of being able to breathe.

Her smile was a little more sure. "Kids tend to do that."

"...Don't I know," he murmured, but then he nodded. He'd tell her. Maybe not today, but he would. After seeing the people at the funeral, he knew she wasn't the only person he owed an explanation to. He was, though, stupidly grateful. Even though this would be hard, at least it wasn't Bonnie who hadn't even tried to look at him. Had pointedly avoided him. She was strongly in Kitt's corner. He wouldn't expect any sympathy from her. "Come on, Becky," he said, nodding toward the door. "Come in. Have some iced tea or something. We've got a lot of catching up to do."


	3. Last Wishes

He'd planned on going into Devon's office to sit still and be quiet for a while. Most of the work had been done in his for a long time now, but he couldn't deal with that anymore. Not today, at least. He was tired, and there was a sore spot where a good man had once been.

Russell Maddock walked down the hallways, knowing the way well. He was still surprised that he wouldn't see Devon wandering down the hall anytime soon. And the way people were so quiet...

That wasn't a surprise.

He pushed the door open, not realising the room was lit until he was already inside. And then he was staring. He'd seen the woman before, but couldn't figure out what she was doing standing behind Devon's desk, on the phone. "Excuse me," he interrupted, and found himself quieted with only a gesture from her - one finger held up, telling him 'just a moment' without saying a word.

"Yes, that's right. Mmhm - oh, wonderful. Wonderful, yes, thank you. Yes, you can reach me at this number--"

Russell heard, but he didn't believe what he was hearing. Reach her at this number? This was Devon's office, and besides that, all partnership changes had to be approved by the board! His outrage grew as the phone was politely put back in the cradle and he was fixed by a pair of intelligent eyes set off by the glasses she wore. For a moment, he thought he could've let the issue go, except for the store of outrage that was still there. Somewhere.

"Excuse me, but--"

"Hello, Mister Maddock," she greeted, and came around the desk, pre-empting the conversation. "I was going to come meet you after I'd finished on the phone, but you've rather taken the first step on that, haven't you? My name is April Curtis."

That was a name he recognized. She shook his hand, and he stared at her. April Curtis. Devon's... what could he call her? He supposed the most accurate term was 'common-law wife.' Suddenly, all the steam was taken out of his argument. "Uh... Miz Curtis, do you mind me asking what you-- I mean--"

"You mean what am I doing here, taking over Devon's office?"

"Something like that, yeah." He put his hands on his hips, his blazer pushed out of the way. "I wasn't informed of this."

"You wouldn't have been." There was something in her tone between apologetic and condescending. "It was in the confidential section of his will, only to be let known after I'd accepted this position after his death. And given that a good few of the senior board members knew me from my days with the Foundation of Law and Government and more than that knew me from my relationship with Devon, the request wasn't contested. I'm your new senior partner, Mister Maddock. And I doubt you'll like it, but some things are going to be changing around here."

All of the information came as a barrage, leaving him almost breathless. Confidential will? Her record from the Foundation? But- Things changing? "...Excuse me?"

She sighed, shaking her head a bit. "Mister Maddock, I've been going over records this morning and for the past few days. It seems to me that you've lost sight of the entire purpose of Knight Industries and the Foundation. I know you never knew Wilton Knight... but this kind of commercialisation isn't what he intended." She leaned against the desk that still had Devon's name plaque on it. Her hand settled over it, and then her eyes. When she spoke again, it was much more quietly.

"Devon knew that, Mister Maddock. It's something we're going to be going back to. With a few compromises for the sake of the advancing times, but we can't lose sight of that goal."

Maddock sat down heavily in one of the chairs nearby. Things would be changing indeed.


	4. Pleasant Returns

It looked like old Pontiacs were popular. He recognized the approaching car as a Grand Prix from the early nineties. It had quite a few miles on it, but he could hear how well the engine sang. How could he expect any less from her?

"Hello, Bonnie."

"Hey," she greeted in return. She didn't look so very different. Her hair was shorter, but the traces of grey were few. She was still slender, and she still looked strong. And beautiful.

"How did you find me?"

He liked the smile she gave him. "I know you. I know the kinds of places you like to go to be alone. Past that? Luck."

"I wasn't expecting you."

"I know. That's half the reason I came."

He'd missed her so much. But he wasn't sure. She'd been gone for so long, and she hadn't called, written, visited... But he'd already heard. How could she have known when even Devon hadn't known? How could she have suspected? There was too deep a pang for him to ignore. He knew her. And the pain of missing her was too much for him to ignore. "Sit with me?" he offered softly.

"I'd love to."

He opened the door for her. Bonnie, with the practice of years, slipped inside. And there, they listened to each other. Words weren't so necessary. She listened to the soft hum of electronics that whispered like music in her ears. He listened to her biorhythm, the strength of her heartbeat and the depth of every breath. Her hands ran over the dash - the new dash - over the wheel. And then her hand rested on the seat beside her, lightly stroking the upholstery as she'd used to do so long ago. Oh, he'd missed her.

The sun was past set when either of them bothered to speak again.

"I think you looked better in black."

"So do I," he replied, just as quiet, though he matched the smile in her tone.

"Maybe we can fix that."

"Maybe."

And a part of him settled. He knew then. She was back.


	5. Reasoning

"That engine just doesn't sound right." Even with a comment that could've been disparaging aimed toward them, the newcomers smiled. The woman in the labcoat was smiling as well. "Hi, Kitt. Hi, Shawn."

"Hello, Bonnie," both of them chorused.

"I'm glad you two came in," she said. "I've got that transfer worked out. We should be able to get Kitt at least a copy of his memories from your chip."

"Thank heavens," said Kitt. "I'd like to be able to fill in my own gaps."

Both women smiled at that. "And I'd like to be able to remember my own things without yours getting in the way," Shawn answered him, and sat down where Bonnie indicated. For those few moments, there was silence. Preparations were made, and Shawn wasn't nervous in the least. Kitt trusted Bonnie. That leached through the chip in her head, lending her to trust Bonnie as well. "So," she began, quiet, trying to break a tension that wasn't really there. "You're back? I mean, you're staying?"

"Looks like it," Bonnie said, speaking more to the chip reader than to Shawn. "April offered me the position. I'm almost on par with her, so I think I'll keep it."

"Good." And then, the words came from Shawn's lips that she didn't know she was saying until they were said. "I missed you."

Silence again, this time as Bonnie looked at her curiously. Shawn amended: "I mean... Kitt missed you."

Bonnie nodded. "I'd kind of figured it was him talking through your mouth."

"I can talk through my own vocalizers as well," Kitt mentioned from not too far away. Just like Bonnie preferred, her lab at the new Knight Industries had room for both people and car, as both were equally important in her eyes.

"Don't I know it," Bonnie grinned.

"But tell me," he continued, more quietly. "What happened, while you were gone?"

\---

"That engine keeps bringing back memories." Both people smiled at the comment, a door slam only a bit of an interruption. The car had a strong V8, and despite how most had converted to the methane fuel, the old Firebird was one that still ran on good old gasoline, and sounded all the stronger for it.

"Hi, Michael," said Becky as she stepped over into his yard. "I got your message."

"I can tell. You showed up."

A laugh was shared between them, and Becky seated herself across the picnic table from Michael, picking up the glass of iced tea that was obviously meant for her. "How could I not?" she asked rhetorically after a sip. "You make great tea."

This time, it was just a smile, and there were a few moments of silence. Not quite silence, Becky amended to herself. There would always be the sound of the water, and the wind high in the trees. Birds, bugs, the ice in the glass. But neither of them were speaking. Michael didn't even look like he was thinking about speaking, for all he was looking out into nowhere.

A million other things were playing behind Michael's eyes. He'd called her to tell her the truth, but now that she was here, he was almost having cold feet. It was ridiculous - he was twenty years older than her, and here he was nervous about telling her about things that she was more than old enough to understand.

"Michael?"

"Huh? Oh - oh, yeah, sorry. Mind wandered. That's what happens when you get old." He smiled in that lopsided way he had, that Becky couldn't help but smile at in return. But she knew it was more than that.

"Michael," she began quietly, "I get the feeling you didn't just invite me out here for iced tea under your trees."

She didn't get an answer. So she plowed on quietly, "Michael, tell me what happened. Why did you leave the Foundation?"

\---

"To begin with," Bonnie started, "I didn't leave because of anything anybody did. Not directly." She talked while she worked, affixing patches like heart monitor sensors to Shawn's temple. "I left because... because of the same things that hit after my first year. I wasn't getting any rest. I was never seeing my family. My blood family. All I did was work, and I wanted to have some time for me while I was still young. So I left. I figured, just like had happened before, someone would take over for me and everything would be okay."

\---

"Well," exhaled Michael, "it was something I really had to think about. It wasn't just what one person said, or just because of the workload. I'd gotten used to that. I'd gotten immersed in that. I had some of the best friends I could ever ask for in that job. Devon was like a second father to me, and Bonnie... She was so much. And Kitt meant the world to me. But I was starting to see that there wasn't a world for me outside Devon and Bonnie and Kitt and the Foundation and the work and the road. It was getting heavy. For all the years before that, though, I'd never realised just how heavy."

\---

"Devon kept in touch. And I kept in touch with Devon. I sent him invitations to my wedding."

"Wedding?" chorused Shawn and Kitt, and Bonnie could see Kitt's scanner's pace leap.

"Yes, wedding. His name was Jason Mitchell. He was a Physics professor at MIT. The marriage didn't last long. A few years. Six. The problem was that we both loved work more than we loved each other, and when we did have time together, it felt... awkward. We never had children. Tried, at one point, but God only knows why it didn't work, and now I'm glad it didn't."

\---

"Devon tried to keep in touch with me, but I didn't really want to keep in touch. Because things had changed. Things had changed a lot." Michael looked into his glass. "I'd started to resent him. And the whole place didn't feel right after Bonnie left. It wasn't like the last time. She'd went all the way back to Massachusetts.

"But I didn't get a real out, I couldn't make the conscious choice, until I got this phone call one day." He exhaled, and the breath was deep and long and as heavy as the load on his shoulders. "When I first got the job, first became Michael Knight, I did some really stupid stuff. I'd lost my whole life. So I made up for it by being reckless. But Gina --" He sighed. "She told me that day that I had a daughter."

\---

"Jason and I stayed friends after we divorced, but I was learning a few things. My mom and dad had passed away. My sister was so involved with her life, her kids, that we barely had time for each other. And then there was this phone call. I could be a professor at CalTech for better than I was doing at MIT. And it hit me then how much I missed the west coast. So I didn't even bother thinking. I just said yes, packed everything, loaded up the moving van, and drove cross-country." And Bonnie, as she activated the chip reader, watching the process carefully but with more on her mind than the monitor, rubbed her forehead. "But everything had changed."

\---

"Starting then, everything changed. Gina told me Renee - that's her name, Renee Douglas - had been asking about her father, and we both decided there, on the phone, that it would be good if I was a part of Renee's life. But I couldn't be part of her life and risk my life every day. The weight of the job really hit then."

\---

"Knight Industries had moved up here to Seattle. And I heard from Devon that Michael had left. And that Kitt had been..." Bonnie looked over her shoulder, pained to say it aloud. "That he'd been... deactivated. But Devon stressed that it'd been temporary and had asked me not to come up, because it was only going to be for a while. When he didn't bring it up again, I figured everything was all right."

\---

"So I left. I barely said goodbye to Devon. Let him know where I'd be, but I left. I didn't know until he got hold of me this last time what had happened to Kitt. Devon had thought that he would be waiting. It was that Maddock idiot who had him deactivated and disassembled and crated like so much junk." The venom was audible in his voice, and Becky could see how tightly he was holding on to the glass.

"I never thought I'd have to trade one life for another like that. I didn't even know there was going to be a trade."

\---

"I let it rest. I didn't think anything was wrong until suddenly I heard about Devon's death, and then the whole story came reeling out from the guy who contacted me - guess who, Russ Maddock. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I couldn't believe..." Bonnie took in a deep, shaky breath, and even past the memory transfer, neither of them could sort through memories or files to find a time when she seemed more pained, more agitated.

"I never thought I'd hear that. Hear that you'd been taken for granted like that, that someone, anyone, could overlook what a miracle you are."

\---

"I had a child. And I had a friend. It's unfair to ask me to choose one. But I had to."

\---

"You're like my child, and I thought Michael was a friend to both of us. I don't understand."

\---

"Maybe if I'd had Bonnie to talk to about the whole thing..."

\---

"I wish I could've talked some sense into him."

\---

In two places at once, there was silence as audience and speaker both only breathed. Emotions had to cool, to stabilise. Tears that hadn't been anticipated had to be quelled. And two voices spoke in tandem. "I would've done anything to keep Kitt safe."

One said, "If I'd just known."

The other said, "But how could I know?"

"I shouldn't have left."

"I had to leave."

"And now I've lost so much time."

\---

Silence again. Becky reached out across the table and placed her hand on Michael's. Silence.

"You're old enough," she said quietly, "to know the 'hard decisions' speech. There are things we all do that we regret."

"And you can't change the past," he filled in.

"Right," she agreed softly. "But there's always the future."

\---

"I know," exhaled Bonnie. "I know. That's why I'm here now. I've made my mistakes. I'm back now."

"It's another decision to make," agreed Shawn. "Was it hard?"

That, Bonnie smiled at. "No. I want to be here for Kitt. Even if I still think Michael needs a stern talking-to."

"Maybe he has his reasons too."

\---

"Nobody knew. I didn't even tell Devon."

"Maybe it's time to tell them." Becky watched him, evaluating his expression before adding, more quietly, "Especially Bonnie."

"Now that she's here to tell?"

"Mmhm."

\---

"I'm not looking forward to talking to him."

\---

"She's not going to be very happy with me."

\---

"Hard decisions," voices chorused.

\---

"I've already made more than a few."

\---

"Not the first or the last."

\---

"Then maybe it's time to make another one," Becky told him.

Michael looked up again, at last. "I think it's already been made."

"Then it's time to carry through."

\---

"Yeah. Time to carry through," Bonnie exhaled, and detached the sensors. "There. Done."

"You're a miracle-worker, Bonnie," Kitt said quietly.

"You're the miracle," Bonnie returned with a smile. "But we're still going to see about painting you black."

\---

"Need a ride?" she asked quietly, nodding over to her Firebird.

"Nah. I'll go tomorrow. Besides, riding in a Firebird just isn't right without the dashboard talking to me." His smile was wistful. Hers was gentle.

"Then how about you take me for a ride in that boat of yours. Teach me to fish?"

Michael's smile widened. "Sure. I'll even loan you a pole."


	6. Walk Away

It was starting to be a familiar sight. He wished he could say he was starting to hate it. The truth was, he recognized that car, and he couldn't help but smile a little as he saw it parked next to his Bel Air. That Camaro had been at the Foundation for years upon years. He'd seen it on the way in, the way out, sitting in the lot or the garage for days on end while its owner slept wherever she landed, when the going got tough.  
  
He didn't know, as he climbed from his boat, whether to be grateful or worried that Bonnie had come to see him.  
  
"Hi," he greeted, feeling strangely tentative when it was her sitting at his picnic table.  
  
Bonnie, however, wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the Bel Air. "It's a little cliche," she said in lieu of greeting him in return, "but at least it's a GM."  
  
He counted himself lucky. She was being close to civil. "Yeah," he said, looking out at his driveway. "Restored it myself."  
  
"That can be a hell of a job."  
  
But this time, he heard something under her tone. A statement - not a question, but more of a softly-spoken demand. _Don't tell me you left to work on a goddamned car_ , she said. _Not when there was a car who needed you._  
  
He couldn't look at her now. "It can," he agreed. Tension was creeping through him. She wasn't putting him on the defensive - not yet, anyway, because when Bonnie did that, people knew. But she was doing what she was always good at: putting him on the spot. He'd known her, after all. A look, a gesture, her posture, the way one of her wrenches or her clipboard could come so close to hitting him but not quite make it. She got her point across without really needing to say a word. And he was discovering he could still read her. "It's, uh... It's been a good distraction." Then he exhaled. "Would you... like to come in? Have a glass of tea?"  
  
Both of them were awkward indoors. Bonnie noticed it in Michael and knew it was her fault - but it was something she couldn't, or wouldn't, stop. He had a lot of explaining to do in her opinion, and she knew Michael. More often than not, he'd try to squirm out of it. Some excuse or the other. She'd thought that the tea would be an excuse as well, but Michael brought two glasses and the pitcher over to the table. It seemed like this was something he'd done before, quite a few times. She had to wonder.  
  
"So," he asked quietly after he'd sat himself down across from her, "I'm pretty sure you didn't come out here just to comment on my car."  
  
No, she thought. She'd come out here to comment on _her_ car. The one who was being painted today. The one who would finally look a little bit more like himself. The one she'd had to wire into a system he wasn't built to push, who'd had to have parts replaced and even built, upgraded, so he could stay in the car he was now stuck in. She came out here to ask why he'd abandoned Kitt to a man who saw profit as the be-all-end-all of business when that was something even Michael had fought against, when it was Jennifer Knight doing the insisting. Had he forgotten that? Had he forgotten the shape Kitt had ended up in after that... that thing, with the battering ram, had gotten done with him?  
  
Why did she feel like the only one who remembered?  
  
"You're right," she said instead, more quietly, but even she could hear how angry and how sad and how confused her voice was. "I didn't."  
  
Michael winced at the tone of her voice. He could've handled being hit with a tire iron better than hearing that tone. He heard her four words. But he heard, _You betrayed him_ , beneath them. Not 'betrayed me' but 'betrayed him.' She hadn't come out here for herself.  
  
"Let me guess," he said after a long drink. He needed one to soothe the sting of her words. "None of them know you're here. Kitt, Shawn, Maddock, April - none of them. They're probably all busy. And knowing you, you've got everything lined up so you could be gone until next week and they'd still be ahead. So you came out here to ask some questions." Another drink. "And I know what questions. Mostly questions starting with 'why' and 'how could you.' Am I right?"  
  
"Every now and then your logic works," she... agreed? He thought it was agreement. She was watching the ice in her glass. She couldn't even look at him. That, and her tone - those wounded like nothing else. And for a moment, he got mad. An anger that flared up, burnt hot, and presented words for him to say that he didn't dare let escape, or she would hit him. She'd backhand him, or knowing Bonnie, punch him, and walk out. And he'd never see her again, except in passing. A wall, a brand new wall, thicker than the distance between Washington and Boston, would build between them, day after day, with blocks bigger than the Pyramids to hold it steady.  
  
"Becky told me you got married," he said instead.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"And divorced."  
  
"Right again."  
  
"Kids?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
He let the silence rest for a few moments. But then he saw a movement in her. She looked up. Not all the way up. Just to his hands. To his left hand. He knew what she didn't see. And he could almost hear her thoughts. The tangent of a conversation coalescing into a conclusion, how her jaw tensed for a moment, like she was talking herself out of it, but how she ended up losing to herself. And how she finally looked all the way up at him.  
  
Her features, he saw then, had gotten a little sharper as time had passed. Her cheekbones looked higher, her jaw a little less forgiving. But her hair was still dark, with only a few threads of grey. And her eyes were still bright blue. But for that one moment, they weren't cold. But they did reveal that she was torn. Between what, he asked himself. Between what two extremes? But he knew - between 'no excuses' and 'I understand.'  
  
What he ended up hearing was, "Oh."  
  
Michael had a child. She guessed at how old, given when he'd left. And his... behaviour. She remembered, even if he didn't, how reckless he'd been in the first year. _Before Stevie showed up..._ Through the years after that, after she'd come back, he'd been different. Still women. But fewer. He was still a flirt, but he picked just a few instead of any girl that came along with a little interest. So, she thought, teenager, or close. Almost grown.  
  
Oh.  
  
Why the hell hadn't he told anybody? Why the hell couldn't...  
  
No, wait, think. First impulses lead to trouble. So she thought. And she went through the steps that would lead to the best conclusion. With a child, especially a child whose mother wanted him to be involved, Michael couldn't be in a job that risked his life. Which was fine. But then he would've told people. Devon would've told her, surely. Then she would've known to come back. But...  
  
But Devon hadn't. Why?  
  
Maybe he'd remembered that first year with the same clarity she had.  
  
But that child wasn't the only person who'd depended on him.  
  
"Michael," she said quietly, "I understand enough to know what happened. But do you always trade one responsibility for another?"  
  
Another barb, and Michael felt it. It was aimed well. He couldn't have expected less from her. "No," he answered. Would she tell all this to Kitt, verbatim? There had always been times he'd insisted he liked her better. Now, he was seeing the truth - she liked Kitt best. He felt like it was something that he'd always known but privately refused to believe. She liked Kitt best. He was hers. She'd built him, practically raised him, she knew his workings inside and out, even now when he was in a new body and half cobbled together by hands that hadn't been sure what they were doing except trying to bring Kitt back. "These last two times," he started, before realising what he was saying, before knowing that what he was saying was going to be dangerous, "it was me who put him back together. I was the one who saw him in packing crates, in pieces, who found all those pieces and saw them dead. That was me, Bonnie, while you were God knows where, so don't talk to me about walking away. I left once. You left twice."  
  
He heard the intake of breath too late.  
  
"Don't you even dare talk to me like that. Don't you dare, Michael Knight. Especially when all you're saying is bullshit. I left twice. Because I thought he was in capable hands, I left twice. But how many times did you leave? You left in eighty-five, when Stevie came around, but after she was killed, you came back with 'family' on your lips. How many years after that did you leave? Come up here, away from God and everything, and then traipse right back in like a big fucking hero to put Kitt back together. Then wander in again at your liesure to do the same damn thing, just to leave again. That counts as once? That's the equivalent of some dumbass high school jock giving the nerdy girl who does his homework a pity fuck, Michael, and you know it. You never had anyone more loyal to you than Kitt. But walking away from him is so damn easy that you do it over and over again - you asshole."  
  
The barrage had his jaw set and his teeth clenched, his eyes burning. "To keep leaving, I have to keep coming back," he growled in a voice he didn't like hearing from himself. It sounded like Garthe. "And just like you, I thought I was leaving him in the care of people who'd make sure he was okay." _But you weren't there._ "I didn't mean to abandon him. But sometimes, Bonnie, shit happens. Shit happens that you can't walk away from."  
  
He shoved himself away from the table, ignoring the groan of the chair against the floor as he stalked across the room, grabbed a framed photo off a table, and came back to slam it on the table in front of the woman he used to be able to call friend.  
  
She jumped, but she looked. And she saw him, sitting in the big tree out front, with a young woman. A young woman who... had his smile. Whose hair was a mass of curls that hung past her shoulders. Whose eyes were that shade of green-blue that she'd seen day after day for years. But her features were softer. Her face more of an oval instead of the strong rectangle that had, she now remembered, been superimposed onto Michael's.  
  
But Bonnie stood as well and looked, unfearing, into Michael's eyes. That same green-blue. Neither of them could deny that there were tears welled and ready to fall, but neither of them was allowing it. "I get it, Michael," she said quietly, her voice under tight control. "You had a daughter. But you let him _die_. That isn't a case of shit happening. That's a case of neglect. I'm not saying you should've walked away from her. I am saying that there's no excuse for what happened to Kitt while you were less than twenty goddamned miles away."  
  
"You think I don't know that?" More of a hiss this time. "You think I don't think of that every single day? Now that I know, do you think I'm ever going to forgive myself for letting that happen to him?" Keeping one had never meant abandoning the other. He'd needed a vacation. He'd just... forgotten to come back.  
  
"Do you think he's ever going to forgive you?"  
  
Michael swallowed tightly. "He already has." _God, all those sparks coming out of the Chevy's dash... He's always been willing to give everything up._  
  
"I don't know if I will."  
  
"I'm not going to ask you to. I just want you to understand."  
  
"I don't know if I can."  
  
For just a few moments, he nodded, breathed deeply. Finally, when he could speak again, he gave her the only thing that could come to mind. "You always liked him best."  
  
She looked up at him again. This time, she almost, he thought, looked apologetic. And she said, her voice softer than he'd ever heard, "Somebody's got to."  
  
The next thing he heard was the sound of the Camaro's engine as she left him behind. Not the first time. But maybe, he thought as he sat down and tried to talk himself out of the tears she'd left him in, for the last.


End file.
